


Bloodletting

by Iron_Angel



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Vampirism, welcome to rare pair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron_Angel/pseuds/Iron_Angel
Summary: Bloodletting: The removal of patient's blood for therapeutic purposes.Pickman is not what he seems.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: *insert standard "don't own, no profits made" jargon here* Unbeta'd. All mistakes/typos are mine. I'll correct them as I find them.
> 
> For Mayorstonerghoul, because they're a wonderful friend and is having a bad day.

"Finally got you, Pickman."

Nora stopped, dropping into a crouch and pressing her back against the rough stone wall.

"Thought you could hunt and torture our people to your heart's content?" the harsh voice continued. She could hear the self-satisfied smile in the raider's voice. "I'm going to enjoy killing you."

Shit.

Nora rounded the corner, immediately lifting her 10mm and taking aim at the first mismatched armor wearer she saw. She hoped it wasn't this Pickman person as she squeezed off three quick shots. The first raider was on the ground by the time her brain caught up with her, and she registered two more and a man in a suit.

The raiders turned on her, but the suited man grabbed at the one in the cage armor who had been aiming a gun at him. Nora took a running leap and launched herself off the ledge of the pit, colliding feet first with the third man. She had misjudged the height, cracking her knees and knocking the breath out of herself as she lost her balance and slammed against the ground.

Her target recovered faster than she had expected. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing for his tire iron, and taking a wild swing, missing her by an inch as she rolled away from him. The impact of the weapon against the solid stone ground jarred him just long enough for her to regain her own feet, bringing her gun up and firing.

It was a bad shot. The bullet tore threw his side, but he didn't go down. He charged, and even through his dirt-smeared goggles, she could see his eyes were wide and bulging.

Hopped up on Psycho. Great.

She ducked another swing, backing away as he rushed her. He had her cornered, but she wouldn't miss this time. She pulled the trigger.

The gun only clicked.

_Shit!_

The raider had his full weight behind his strike. She wouldn't survive it. She clenched her teeth, bracing.

There was a pop and the raider's head exploded, spraying her in blood and bits of brain matter.

Nora stared wide-eyed as the man in the suit watched the raider fall to the ground before tossing aside a smoking pistol and turning his attention to her.

"That was close. Thank you," he said with a relieved sigh, offering her his hand.

She hesitated before accepting it, letting him help her to a half-crumbled outcrop along the wall near a burning barrel. "I didn't really do much." She winced as she propped against the stone, her knees letting her know just how much they did not appreciate her earlier flying tackle.

"This man Slab" --he turned and waved toward the bloodied and motionless raider in cage armor on the ground a few feet away-- "and his dogs had me at a disadvantage. I daresay that without your timely intervention, I would have faired quite poorly. Raiders," he spat. "They deserve worse than death." He turned back to her. "Are you badly injured, my dear?"

She was about to shake her head 'no' when she finally looked up to get her first good look at him, and paused. His build was unremarkably average. His face was handsome enough with a neatly trimmed beard and dark hair slicked back into a small ponytail. But his eyes... As bright a blue and searing as a gas flame, and boring into hers as if he were trying to look through her.

"I, uh..." She looked away, taking a breath to clear her thoughts and pull herself back together. "I'm fine." Her gaze went again to Slab. "Why did they want you so badly?"

"A small disagreement." There was a hint of amusement in his voice now. "They objected to my hobby of collecting their heads."

A thrill of horror ran up her spine as she remembered the bodies and bloody paintings on display in the house above. Pickman's gallery. _He_ had done all of that!

"They got their pound of flesh, but I'll collect my own again soon." Her attention went to his hand as he reached into his pocket, and for a moment she was afraid he was going to pull a weapon on her. Instead, he pulled out a VaultBoy keychain with a single key. "I owe you."

She eyed the key. "You don't owe me anything."

He reached forward, taking her hand, but instead of pressing the key into it like she thought he would, he pulled her closer and slipped it into the pouch on her belt. "When you return to the main house, look deep within my painting _Picnic for Stanley_ and you will find my gratitude."

He brought her hand up to kiss it ...and froze.

Unnerved by his sudden stillness, she looked up at him and was shocked to see that his pupils had blown wide, staring at her bloody split knuckles where she had barked them earlier in the fall. She could see a slight twitch in his nostrils and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard.

"You..." he whispered, barely louder than a breath. "You're something special, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

His eyes flicked up to hers. Her breath caught in her throat. They were glowing like blue neon. Not a trick of the light; the burning barrel was behind him, casting most of his face in shadow.

A primal fear pulled at her, urging her to jerk her hand free and run. Seeming to sense this, his hold tightened around her wrist, firm but not crushing. Unblinking, he carefully brought her hand to his lips and slowly licked the blood from her fingers.

"You're from before the war." His normally smooth voice was suddenly ragged, and he kept his mouth against the open cuts. "From before the bombs that poisoned everyone and made them all bitter."

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his. "H-how do you know that?" she stammered.

He dug his tongue into the deepest of the wounds, eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head in a look of pure ecstasy. "So sweet," he purred, and licked again. "You lack the taint of radiation."

She whimpered softly as the licks turned to kisses across her fingertips, to her palm, to her wrist. She didn't resist as he pressed her back against the outcrop again, grateful for the extra support as her legs felt as if they had turned into jelly. He continued pressing soft kisses up her forearm to the inside bend of her elbow, his lips curling into a smile as she squirmed when his beard tickled her sensitive skin.

Her heart seized with terror as she saw the off-white points of his canines denting his lower lip.

This couldn't be happening, couldn't be real! There was no such thing!

"Please let me go," she breathed, steadily trying to pull her arm away. No use. His grip was iron.

Pickman brought her palm back to his lips, kissing it again as he locked her gaze with half-lidded eyes. "No one has known what I am in a very long time. What a rare treasure you are."

His voice sent hot tingles like fire over her skin and settling low in her her belly, and lower still. Fear and arousal warred as he lifted his free hand to trace his fingertips through the raider's blood coating her leather jacket, then up to smear it across her mouth. He wrapped her captive arm around his waist as he pulled her to him. Leaving fingerprints in blood on her chin and jaw, he angled her face up to him, his tongue tracing the line of her lips, licking them clean, before plunging in to taste her. He swallowed her moan as his other hand slid up her back to thread his fingers into her hair, tugging gently but firmly, tilting her head back. She shivered as his fingers continued to paint bloody trails down her neck to the little hollow at the base of her throat, and again as his hot mouth followed, kissing, licking, sucking.

Her knees buckling, she gripped his lapels for support. He hummed appreciatively as her restless movements inadvertently pushed her hips into him. Even clothed, the contact sent a jolt of pleasure through her, her eyes closing against it and another moan escaping.

He returned his mouth to hers, and she dimly registered him undoing the buckle of her arm guard. "I want to taste more of you," he murmured against her lips, now unzipping her jacket. "I want to drink so deeply of you." He slid his hands under the hem of her tank top, over the soft skin of her abdomen, pushing the garment up. "I want to savor every last drop of you." Her gun belt was removed and he undid the button of her trousers. "I want to drain you dry."

He slipped his unstained hand under the band of her panties and down between her folds. She jerked and let out a soft cry, and he took advantage of her open mouth to slide his tongue in again. Holding her firmly by the back of the neck, he kissed her hard as his fingers circled her clit, working her pleasure ever higher for several moments before pressing two fingers deep into her dripping entrance.

She pulled back with a gasp at the intrusion, arching and pushing her hips forward. She clung to him desperately as he pumped his fingers in and out, crooking them to brush against that spot within her that made her shudder and tense.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. She obeyed and was met with blue neon again as he watched her hungrily. "What a beautiful painting you would make, Killer."

She should be afraid, terrified, but the fast approaching orgasm was clouding her thoughts and smothering her rationale. When it hit, she threw her head back and let out a sharp keen.

Pulling his fingers free, he gripped the waistband of both her panties and trousers and pulled them down to her knees. He unbuttoned his slacks, pushing his own clothing down enough to free his cock. One hand on her hip, the other lining himself up with her entrance, her caught her gaze again. "I want you," and she could almost pretend he was asking permission.

Almost.

She couldn't deny him. She nodded anyway and he pushed into her to the hilt in one smooth thrust. Had she not been so wet from her first orgasm, it would have hurt. Instead, he caught her as she had been coming back down and was working her up again.

His hand went again to the back of her neck, pulling her up to his mouth as he fucked her. Soon she was close again, her walls clenching him tight. Just a little more and--

A sharp pain pinched at the base of her throat and her world _exploded_. She was coming so hard, stars burst behind her eyes. Harder than she ever had in her life. Every muscle in her body seemed to twitch and burn with unbearable pleasure. And it kept going, on and on.

As her vision grayed, she felt Pickman let out a low groan against her shoulder, his hips press in deep and go still, and his tongue swirling and lapping at her skin.

Then... black.

\------------~~~~~~~~~~~~------------

Nora opened her eyes to find herself seated in a dusty armchair in the middle of Pickman's main gallery. For a moment, confusion overrode her disgust at the gruesome 'art' as she tried to figure out how she had ended up there again.

Standing a little gingerly, she discovered that her trousers and gun belt had been put back in place, but her jacket and the strap of her arm guard remained opened. She made to fix them when she realized she was holding a keychain; a VaultBoy keychain with a single key.

Pickman. He must have carried her up here after... well.

He left her alive. Why?

Remembering why he had given her the key in the first place, she turned to look at each painting on the walls until she found the one labeled _Picnic for Stanley_. Approaching it, she realized it didn't sit flush against the wall.

An old world trick.

Trying to ignore the smell of old blood, she carefully lifted the piece off its hook and set it aside to reveal a small wall safe. She inserted the key into the lock and turned. Inside was a black-bladed combat knife and a folded piece of white paper. Swapping her old knife out for this obviously better one, she unfolded the paper.

A note with a heart painted in blood read, "See you around, Killer."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


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